


The Empty Spaces Between the Stars

by slivered



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief, Homesickness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 09:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9065959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slivered/pseuds/slivered
Summary: Talking was a far cry better than grunting, even if Keith's voice did sound like... Feces, was it? Strange those human phrases that Lance had been trying to explain to him and Allura. But it didn't sound good, was the point.*Five times Coran takes care of the Paladins.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get a handle on Coran's character, because best-crazy-space-uncle is difficult for me. Somehow, I got this... 'This' being what was supposed to a short five-things fic instead of the moody monster it grew up to be.
> 
> Unbeta'ed.

It had been three days since their last battle. 

Coran yawned and stretched in the early morning silence of the Castle. Not that it had been particularly noisy since the Paladins had returned with their rescued, unconscious leader. The first day, everyone had hovered in the medical bay, watching the cryo-pod with tense lips and shuttered eyes. 

There had been several hours, Coran was afraid to say, where he hadn't been too certain that Shiro was going to make it. 

The Black Paladin had lost a lot of blood in the course of whatever torment that druid Haggar had put him through. He'd had broken bones that were set improperly, internal injuries that had not been correctly healed, and infections driving his temperature up to levels that humans couldn't survive for extended periods of time. It hadn't been until the monitors had started to show his fever dropping, bones knitting back into place, that the other Paladins had slowly begun to trail out of the room. 

Lance was first, his restlessness overcoming his worry. Which, Coran understood, he thought. The long bout watching pained emotions flicker across Shiro's otherwise-still face from outside the pod had left too much silence in the room, and Lance hadn't wanted to fill it with his usual boisterous humor. 

Hunk left next, ostentatiously to fix the others something to eat while Coran was involved with the medical equipment. Cooking, Coran had found, was something that calmed Hunk down. He'd lost count of the times he'd found the larger of the teens in the galley, testing new recipes as a way to quiet his nerves. 

Then Pidge who, like Lance, couldn't stay still and quiet for very long, unless they were absorbed in something that required both their hands and mind. A virgil at Shiro's cryo-pod wasn't going to provide that kind of focus, least of all when the worst of the healing cycle had completed. 

So they'd gone down to their workshop, but not before telling Keith to let them know if anything changed. 

And Keith... 

Well. _Keith_. 

Coran paused just inside the door to the infirmary. Someone — Allura, he thought — had brought in one of the three-seater couches from the lounge and a pile of pillows and blankets in hopes that the black-haired teen would lay down. Maybe sleep. And Hunk had been bringing him food at regular intervals. 

Both had been to little avail. 

The Red Paladin sat at the far end of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and his flat stare fixated on Shiro in the cryo-pod. His hair was matted mess, still sweaty and dirty from their extended fight aboard that Galra vessel. He'd changed, at least, from his armor and flight suit to his more typical wardrobe. But other than that, he hadn't left the infirmary for three days. 

He hardly acknowledged anyone. 

And he hadn't slept at all. 

At least he'd eaten, though barely enough if Coran's understanding of the human's metabolism and Hunk's worried fussing were correct. Really, when Shiro was awake, Coran probably needed to sit down with him and do some proper information gathering, though he was loathe to put an additional task upon their young leader. He still couldn't believe that the eldest of their Paladins was barely past their species' adolescence. 

The rest were practically children. 

Coran's steps were heavier as he entered fully into the infirmary, loud enough to not startle the motionless teen. He started out with a chipper "Good morning, Keith. Surprised to see you up and about already! Nothing like an early start to the day, though, right?" Not that he expected an answer, of course. The black-haired Paladin angled his glance towards the Altean, then back to the cryo-pod with a soft grunt. 

Acknowledgement, for the first morning since they'd returned? Coran would take that as a positive sign. Heading over to the holo-screen near Shiro's cryo-pod, he prodded at a few of the buttons, checked the charts, made satisfied sounds. "Well, he's certainly progressing nicely," he said aloud, in the guise of talking to himself — but Coran knew that Keith was paying attention to every word. 

"It's still going to be two, three more days before the pod clears him, I think," he admitted. "But all the better for him to get more rest. Alfor knows he's been in need of it. 

"And I'd guess he's not the only one, hm?" 

He could see Keith's reflection in the shield covering the pod's interior, the way the younger man tensed and glanced away. "I'm fine." 

Talking was a far cry better than grunting, even if Keith's voice did sound like... Feces, was it? Strange those human phrases that Lance had been trying to explain to him and Allura. But it didn't sound _good_ , was the point. Raspy from misuse. Coran wondered if the other had been staying hydrated and pulled up the monitors that kept track of everyone's general well-being. 

No, probably not. 

"My apologies, number four, but I beg to differ." He sighed, flicked the data away and went back to Shiro's vitals. "You've not showered or slept since you got back, you've barely eaten, and you're dangerously dehydrated." With each passing point, he watched the teenager pull tighter into himself. 

Honestly, he hadn't thought Keith could get any more tense than he'd already been. 

Still, while Coran had never had children of his own, he had had plenty of young nieces and nephews. And sometimes, especially with the most stubborn, it took a certain degree of bluntness to get through them. 

"If you don't sleep," he thus added, pitching his voice soft and not hiding the worry that crept into his tone, "Keith, I'm afraid that I'm going to be sticking _you_ into a cryo-pod before number one wakes up. And I'm not sure how Shiro would take seeing you unconscious after..." 

It wasn't a fair ploy, Coran would admit. He also didn't really understand the full relationship between the Black and Red Paladins, could quite possibly be poking a sleeping thormar without knowing it. One moment, he thought that the two Paladins were almost siblings and the next... 

Something more complex. 

But it had it's desired effect. Keith's expression shifted from flat and closed off to guilt-ridden and afraid in just a handful of ticks. He was still on edge, yes, but it wasn't the same edge. This was one that Coran thought he could coax Keith away from. 

"You could at least lay down for a few ticks, Keith," he kept his attention on the holo-screen, even though Shiro's vitals were fine. "Nothing more's going to happen to him between now and when you wake up next. None of us would allow it." 

And then, he went silent. Let the reclusive Paladin have a few moments to process what he'd said, to work through a response that wasn't just pure gut reaction. 

"I can't," Keith finally mumbled, frustrated and soft. "I've tried, okay? And I— I just _can't_." Coran didn't press, and he didn't need to; Keith, once he did get talking, tended to let words bubble up like an underground spring. It just took him more time to express himself than it did the others. "I keep seeing _him_ — With her. _Haggar_. What she did. And I couldn't _do anything_ to stop it." 

Nightmares then. And guilt, of course, because even though Shiro's capture had been nobody's fault, Keith would be the one to convince himself otherwise. Coran considered, closed the data on the Black Paladin's progress and then walked over to the cabinet of medical supplies. "I've got something that might help, number four," he explained, shuffling through the vials to the find a bottle of the liquid sedative that they'd picked up at one of their last supply runs. 

Keith looked wary, as he did anytime something of non-human origin was placed before him. It was another thing that Coran had noticed — while he was more than willing to rush blindly into a situation, Keith was also the most likely to let the other Paladins experiment with new, "alien" things before he himself tried them. And while Coran did understand the concept of confidentiality, well... 

He hoped the Black Paladin would understand his reasons for this. 

"Meryaxian extract. Shiro takes this sometimes, when he's having difficulty sleeping." Though even then, the Black Paladin probably didn't use the tincture often enough; he only agreed to it when the insomnia had gotten to the point where he might stop functioning all together. Coran considered it lucky that the eldest of their charges understood that he _had_ to sleep if he didn't want to endanger his team. It made him a little easier to coax into trusting Coran's medical advice, even if they weren't entirely sure what worked on humans. 

Coran didn't care for learning through experimentation on their Paladins. Sometimes, he had no choice. 

At least Keith looked curious now. Coran turned with the bottle in hand and studied him. "I think we'll start with a quarter — no, an eighth — of Shiro's standard dose diluted in some plain water and see if that helps, all right?" 

Fifteen tocks later, while Coran was still puttering around in the medical wing, rearranging and rechecking supplies, Keith slumped over to one side on the couch. "Ah, there we go. Much better," the Altean approved and set aside his holo-pad. With a little nudging, he managed to get the boy laying on the couch properly, a pillow under his head and a thin blanket spread on top of him. He left a pitcher full of water and a glass nearby. 

It was almost time for the others to start stumbling into the kitchen. Coran put away his holo-pad and returned the few items he had pulled out to their proper shelves; he'd have to cut the other Paladins off before they started to filter in for their daily visits to Shiro's pod-side. They would understand, after all, that Keith needed rest as much as their leader and leave him undisturbed. 

In the meanwhile, he and Hunk could come up with something that Keith would eat once he woke. 

* 

The kitchen was a mess. 

Coran supposed with a sigh that this wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence. Adolescents, he was finding, didn't vary all that much between Altea and Earth. Leave them alone long enough, and the entire Castle would probably look like a herd of braxmers had galloped through it. 

This, though? 

This wasn't the typical teenaged-mess he'd come to expect from their Yellow Paladin. 

If only because of the three younger boys and Pidge, the largest was the most fastidious. His space in the workshop was tidy when he wasn't actively tearing something apart, tools put up in exactly the same place every time and extra parts sorted into neat piles. The kitchen, too, was treated to the same precise placement — to the point where Coran himself didn't need to bother going through it on a regular basis, checking their stocks and making certain everything was in order. 

Hunk had once mentioned to them that putting things in order helped quell his anxiety, that by knowing he could find the things he needed when he needed them, he knew that he could fix whatever needed to be fixed. 

And of course, things got messy when he was working on them. But this? 

Coran glanced around the kitchen again, bowls and plates pulled out of their cabinets, glasses stacked on the counter. Everything in complete disarray... 

This was an anxious, uncomfortable mess if Coran had ever seen one. 

"Are you sure you didn't see it?" Hunk was looking at two of the space mice seated on the counter. "I mean, it's about so big and it smells kinda... Musky, but sweet? And it's bright red." The mice chittered back and forth, then their ears drooped and they shook their heads. "Ah, well. Okay. I guess not..." 

"Something wrong, number two?" Coran kept his tone upbeat as he poked around the dishes, looking for — well, nothing in particular, really. 

Hunk startled at his voice and turned around, scratching at his neck. "Oh, hey Coran. Uhm... You haven't by chance seen the space-cinnamon that I picked up on our last supply run, have you?" 

"Sin-a-man?" Coran repeated the word carefully and gave Hunk a blank look. 

"Yeah, the red seed pod? About so big," Hunk held his fingers a couple of clicks apart. 

Coran put aside the dish he'd picked up and fiddled with his mustache instead. "Can't say that I have, number two." Their last supply run had involved a trip through a Themarian market, and oh, those Themarians... Always so heavy on the spices. But it had excited Hunk and, to a lesser degree, Lance, to have more possible variety in their diet, so Coran had indulged their enthusiasm. They come back loaded with exotic spices, vegetables and fruits. 

Hunk looked crestfallen, though, at the loss of this particular treat. "I— Okay, well. Thanks, Coran," he sighed heavily, glancing around the disaster that was the kitchen, and frowned, so disappointed. "I'll just put stuff up." 

"I'm sure that we can find it again on our next run," Coran tried to be cheerful as he picked up the nearest stack of plates. "The Themarians aren't the only ones who love their spices, you know. Why on Altea, we used to use hot grapinheimer in one of our most famous stews. Really curled the ends of your mustache, if you know what I mean?" 

Hunk laughed, though it was deflated. "I guess. I just— I really wanted to try and fix an apple pie today, with the fruit that we got. My mom's." He shrugged and turned away to shelve the glasses. 

Homesickness was a common problem for the Paladins. Coran certainly couldn't blame them, and he'd accepted that while the Castle held plenty of things to keep Allura and him distracted, it was less entertaining for the young humans. Too many things were unfamiliar to them, when all they wanted was something that they could easily understand. Even Pidge tired of the constant newness of everything and wanted something that they could recognize on occasion. 

Food had become part of the familiar, at least, even if the ingredients were terribly foreign to them all. And Coran had to give Hunk most of the credit for that. He didn't mind the food goo, having grown up a military man, but, well... 

The stomach's memory was only second to the heart's, as the saying went. 

He and Hunk worked easily around each other, putting up glasses and cups, plates and bowls, restocking the fridge. Coran had just started on the silverware when something at the back of the drawer caught his eye: a small, round, jewel-like object. Red. 

Coran plucked it up and gave it shake. It rattled. 

"Ah ha!" he grinned. "Hunk, my dear boy." Coran spun around and held out the himbledian pod with a flourish. "Your sin-a-man, yes?" 

"What— Where?" 

"Cutlery drawer," Coran laughed, dropping the pod into Hunk's outstretched hand. "Probably fell in and rolled to the back while we were putting things away. Small as it is, I'm not surprised no one noticed back there." 

"I— I checked there!" Hunk was more flustered now than upset. "I swear, I did." 

Coran just waved his hand. "And so you may have overlooked it, number two. No worries now though, right?" 

"Right!" Coran watched a grin break out over Hunk's face, then suddenly he was off his feet and encased in one of the large human's bone-crushing hugs. "I'm going to make you the _best_ apple pie you've ever tasted!" 

Coran patted his forearm gently and decided to not mention that he had no idea what an 'app-el pi' even was. 

* 

"... Dad?" 

Coran stood just inside the dimly lit workshop off the Green Lion's hanger, her Paladin slumped over their worktable and deep in sleep. Though not, it would appear, a comforting sleep if the small crease between Pidge's eyebrows were any indication. Their glasses were askew on their face, their cheek pressed into a circuit board that was going to leave quite the impression come morning. 

"Dad... Matt. No. D-don't go." 

Nightmares were hardly unusual. Coran had more than his share of them, and he did understand the need to work oneself into exhaustion to overcome them. Though, they each coped with them in different ways. 

For Pidge, it seemed to be working themself until they completely shut down. 

Sometimes, though, there was just no coping with the nightmares at all. 

A small sob escaped the Green Paladin, and Coran had had enough. With quiet steps, he crossed the room to their side and knelt down, laid a gentle hand on their shoulder. "Pidge," he said softly. "Pidge, number five?" He shook; they whimpered. 

Coran took a breath. "... Katie?" 

Ah, _that_ caused the Green Paladin to stir. 

Coran didn't call their youngest by their given name often, if only because he still wasn't clear on if they wished to use it or not. Humans were not the first species that he'd encountered that had a gender that lacked the clear distinction of the others. Plenty had three or four, even more than that in the case of the Artusials. Sometimes it was for social reasons, for others it was biological, physiological or even psychological reasons, and in others still it was simply personal preference. And with it, in some species, came the question of the name they'd been given at birth and the name that they'd chose for themself. 

It wasn't Coran's place to decide if they were right or wrong about any of it, and so he didn't. Of course, he'd given Pidge the same courtesy as he would anyone else, including using the name that they seemed to prefer. 

But right now, lost in the tangle of a terrible sleep? 

"No, please, no..." 

If their given name would help to rouse them, then by Alfor's beard, Coran was going to use it. "Katie," he said more firmly. "Katie, my dear, you need to wake up." 

The Green Paladin's eyes flickered, then opened. "Dad...?" they muttered, still not fully awake. 

"No, no. I'm afraid not." Coran's smile was soft, but sad. "Not yet." 

"Oh— C-Coran?" The elder Altean took his hand from their shoulder and shifted back to give them room as Pidge lifted their head and assessed their surroundings with a slow, confused blink. "I— What?" 

"You were having a bad dream, I believe," Coran answered. "I thought it prudent to wake you up." 

Pidge nodded their head and tugged off their glasses, wiping tears out of their heavy eyes. "Yeah, uh. Thanks. Sorry, I just— I." They sobbed and twisted sideways suddenly, arms around Coran's neck before he could pull away. Coran froze, just for a tick, before he settled his arms around their back and rubbed small circles along their spine. 

"I. Sorry. I just— I can't—" 

"It's all right, number five," Coran assured, added a pat the shoulder blade. "Would you like me to get Shiro?" Pidge shook their head, still sobbing, and Coran shifted closer so that they weren't likely to fall off their chair. No sense in adding actual injury, no matter how minor, to their current pain. 

It took several tocks for the sobs to quiet down into sniffles. "Sorry," Pidge muttered again, pushing back and embarrassed. "I just... Miss them." 

"I know you do, number five." 

"... What if we don't find them?" Pidge murmured, tears still sliding down their cheeks as they turned away and poked listlessly at a circuit board. 

"Now, now," Coran sighed, standing. Oh, his knees — he was probably getting too old to be squatting down to the floor like that. "You mustn't think like that, number five. We will find them. You know that. Even if— Even if we defeat Zarkon himself first, we'll keep looking until we find them." 

Pidge didn't seem quite certain, but there was little Coran could do to ease the doubts circling their mind like worfers on the prowl. Instead, he clapped a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Come on, now. I think there's some of that hot chalk-o-lot concoction that all of you enjoy so much in the kitchen. Perhaps a cup before bed?" 

" _Chocolate_ ," Pidge corrected with an exasperated look. Coran just grinned. 

He knew how it was pronounced, but Pidge look more like themself when they were a little bit irate. 

* 

Lance was the hardest of the Paladins to keep busy. 

Which was how, probably, he ended up trailing behind Coran most days with his arms full of cleaning supplies. In hindsight, Coran supposed that the Castle didn't really this need much cleaning — just some basic upkeep to ensure that the machinery was working correctly. 

But it felt so very wrong to leave it in any state of disarray. The Castle had once been so majestic. Now, the halls just felt hollow. 

And well, he had a Blue Paladin that needed _something_ to do. 

The others were easier: Keith trained with single-minded intensity. Shiro planned with Allura, exercised or read. Pidge had their workshop and their laptop. And Hunk, the kitchen and his own workshop. 

So far, Lance had just not found a spot where he felt most useful. Which led to prolonged stretches of boredom. And then, Coran had noticed, to the melancholy that usually accompanied the Paladins' bouts of homesickness. The Blue Paladin's was the worst, though, and tended to fester like raw wounds if he was allowed to linger in his thoughts too long. 

Coran didn't have a cryo-pod that would make the young human feel better; emotional distress just wasn't like that. And they couldn't send the Blue Paladin back to Earth. 

But Coran could, at least, distract him. 

Coran threw open the door to the next room they were tackling. "Ah, yes, the King's officers' lounge. Not many were allowed in here, you know," he chuckled, leading the way in. Soft blue lights flickered on around them. "But I suppose there were certain advantages to being Alfor's inner circle of advisor. Ah, if these old walls could talk..." He patted one of them for emphasis, grinning to himself. 

There was the time that Alfor had gotten too much Nuntian, a strong alcoholic drink brought by a visiting dignitary from Yyviar, and danced around the room with anyone that he could get his hands on. Lady Malyia had been so indignant when he'd dipped her! Or when Commander Darimo had passed out in the recliner, only for his fellow officers to mark up his face with ink. 

"Good times," he sighed. 

"Uh-huh." Lance didn't seem to share his interest, sadly. The Blue Paladin stood in the middle of the room, mop and bucket in hand, and looked around. It wasn't a large, compared to some of the rooms in the Castle. Alfor had wanted a small, private lounge to meet with his closest advisors for regular discussions. Some had been serious, others not so much. 

"Well, let's see if we can get the old place spiffed up! Chop, chop, number three!" 

Coran was still talking — rambling, really, he supposed — about the sorts of goings-on that Alfor and his advisors had gotten into in their private lounge when he noticed that Lance hadn't just fallen silent, but motionless while standing at the large observation window on the other side of the room. "Everything alright over there, number three?" he asked. "Not seeing any sudden huferies getting ready to storm the Castle, are you?" 

Of course he wasn't. The huferies, like everything else from Altea, were extinct now. 

"Huh?" Lance blinked, dropped his arm from where it had been frozen against the window, a cleaning cloth still in hand. "Yeah, yeah, Coran. Everything's fine." 

"Is it?" Coran chuckled. He knew a lie when he heard one, especially from the Blue Paladin. Lance was a lot of things — most of which the boy never gave himself credit for, with constantly comparing himself to the Red Paladin instead of looking at his own merits — but a good liar? 

No, absolutely not. 

Lance shrugged, wiry frame lost in his oversized hoodie. "Pidge has this clock set for us, right?" Coran hummed and nodded; the clock in question tracked the time back on their home planet, as near as number five could estimate it. "And the date... My sister's due date was yesterday. For her baby." 

The Blue Paladin's shoulders slumped a bit more. "I've got a new little niece or nephew, and I don't even know their _name_." 

Ah, well... That would explain his current mood then. Lance took being apart from his family the hardest of all of them. From what he'd understood, Lance's family was a bit like Coran's own had been — loud, colorful, always in each other's way. He could certainly comprehend why Lance would miss them terribly. 

"I'm sure they'll understand, when we can get all of you back to Earth," Coran pointed out, setting aside his own cleaning supplies and going to stand behind the young man as Lance stared out the window. "And until then, I'm afraid..." 

Coran sighed and shook his head, clapped a hand on Lance's shoulder and squeezed. "It doesn't get any easier, number three. Missing those you love. All you can do in the meantime is remember them as best you can." 

Lance swallowed. "Guess... You and the Princess know a lot about it, huh?" 

Coran nodded. "We do." 

* 

"That's it, number one. Just breath, in and out. Nice and steady." 

The Black Paladin's eyes were looking less glazed than they had when Coran had first stumbled across him. They were in a back hall, rarely used except for maintenance purposes now, and the eldest of the Paladins had been curled up in a tight knot of limbs, running shaking fingers through the longer part of his hair and trying to talk himself back into a calm state in what Coran believed to be his native tongue. 

Coran understood. Shiro was trying to be strong in face of overwhelming odds. 

But no matter how strong Shiro was, there were somethings that he simply couldn't handle on his own. And that he didn't _need_ to, if he'd allow it. 

Now if Coran could only get the Paladin convinced of that. 

"You're having a flashback, Shirogane. You're in the Castle of Lions and you're perfectly safe." 

"I. I know. I just— I was _there_." 

Coran nodded, not that Shiro was looking at him. He was staring at the floor, eyes still wide and skin ashen. "It was only a flashback, though," the Altean reminded him. 

"Y-yeah." Shiro was still gasping for air, but he had lifted his head and was looking around slowly. Taking in the blue tinge to the lights close to the floor, the white walls and the clean, cool air that ran through the Castle's environmental control system. Grounding himself, as it were, to the here and now. 

Coran gave the young man another couple of minutes, then asked softly, "Do you remember what set this off, number one?" 

"Ah, it was... Nothing," the Black Paladin reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Just something stupid—" 

"Whatever it was, it was _not_ stupid." Coran frowned. They'd had this discussion before, several times in fact, and every single time the Black Paladin insisted that the source of his distress was no great concern. Except, Coran was no fool and he _had_ seen soldiers in his time suffer from waking nightmares. 

Perhaps the humans had a different name for it, but no matter. The symptoms were the same. And he couldn't be much further help if Shiro continued to insist on not talking about what was happening in that stubborn head of his! 

"... The lights flickered," Shiro sighed, slumping back against the wall, embarrassed. "They did that in the corridors leading up to the— The arena. Sometimes. Good thing I was back here, I guess, instead of in the lounge with the others." 

So, it was a response to an environmental stimulus then. Sadly, there was little he could do about it; the Castle was in excellent shape, considering it's age, but it was still very old and things were going to break down. However... 

"No, it was not a _good thing_ , number one. If I hadn't come back here to check the power myself, just how long do you think you would have stayed here like that?" 

"Uh." Shiro paled. "I— I don't know." 

"Number one— _Takashi_ ," the Altean sighed. "I understand that you don't wish to trouble your team, that you are their leader and you want them to have full confidence in you. But you are also their _friend_ and, young though they might be, they are not unaware that something quite serious is troubling you and that you're hiding it from them. 

"They're concerned." 

Shiro knocked the back of his against the wall and stared at the ceiling. "They shouldn't have to worry about _me_. They're already going through so much..." 

"That isn't going to stop them," Coran sighed again. He'd seen the looks that the others shared when Shiro had turned away, the way that they'd cluster around Keith as if the Red Paladin had the answers to their questions, and the confused, frustrated looks the young man would give them all in return. "Takashi, you are doing a great disservice to yourself by keeping them at a distance. And to them as well." 

"... You really think I should tell them." 

Shiro's voice was flat and tired. Coran smiled and patted his knee. "I do. What you're going through, it's easier to deal with if you have _more_ support, not less. You mustn't cut yourself off from the very people who want to help you." 

"I— I'll think about it. No promises." 

Coran sighed; that was more than he'd gotten the last time he'd talked the Black Paladin through this situation. 

One step at a time. 

"That's all I ask." 

* 

"Coran?" 

He was standing on the bridge, looking at the holographic projection of the known universe again. In particular, at a very empty, very blank space in the stars where there should have been an entire solar system. 

It was late in the evening, late enough that everyone should have been resting. Including Allura. 

Her soft footsteps came to a halt at his side and neither of them spoke. They didn't have to, Coran supposed. That blank space in the stars resonated the same for the both of them. 

Coran sighed heavily, suddenly feeling every single one of his ten millennia and several extra hundred years. Allura leaned in against his arm and put her hand in his. 

They stood there in the quiet until she finally asked, "Are you alright, Coran?" 

"Not particularly." There was no use lying about it, he knew. That wouldn't make the ache go away any sooner. He gave her hand a squeeze. "But there's nothing to do be done about it, you know. It just comes and it goes." 

Allura nodded, then tugged his hand. Coran let himself be led away from the endless sea of stars to a chair on the bridge. Allura seated herself on the arm rest next to him, her arms draped around his shoulders and her head resting against the top of his. 

She'd not done that since she'd been a child, looking for a tale of adventure while her father was busy with his duties. So he wasn't surprised when she asked, "Tell me about the time that you and father almost got trampled by a herd of zakamers again?" 

Coran chuckled and blushed. Of course she would want _that_ particular story. 

It had always been their shared favorite. 

"Ah, well. You see, my dear Princess, back when your father and I were dashing young men — and probably more than a little bit foolish, I must confess..." 


End file.
